


Bite the Bullet

by TheCreatorOfTales



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Death, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Joan has has an actual past beyond Jianna and her dad, Joan will use them, Joan's a badass, There's guns in this, Vera finds that sexy, Vera is also a badass, Vera loses her temper, Vera worries, about literally everyone, and its glorious, and she's good at using them, but no major characters, found family trope, she shouldnt but she does, somewhere in Season 2, there's some violence, we all know this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:34:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28576086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCreatorOfTales/pseuds/TheCreatorOfTales
Summary: Joan's past comes back to ask for a favour.~ There will be guns mentioned in this, a hostage situation including kids but there will be no graphic descriptions. Oh and Joan being a badass as usual.~
Relationships: Vera Bennett/Joan Ferguson
Comments: 32
Kudos: 34





	1. The Past Comes Calling

“What is it?”

“Er…you have two visitors, Governor.” Her deputy’s voice is confused, Joan can tell through the phone.

“I didn’t have anyone scheduled to meet with me today. Who are they, Vera?”

“One is a Sergeant Mark Hamilton? Part of Sydney Police?” Vera’s voice sounds like she’s reading from the visitor’s identification and she sounds puzzled. The name makes Joan freeze, her mind going back to her previous career and the contacts and friends she made there.

_Mark? Why was he here? I’ve not seen him in years._

“Alright, if its police, then send them up. Are you able to escort them?”

After hearing that Vera would escort the two men up, Joan cleared her desk of her reports, tucking them away into her desk and turning her computer screen off. If Mark was here, something was wrong. Very wrong.

They’d kept in touch, after she’d made the decision to walk away from the team. It hadn’t been sudden, or in temper. It had been done meticulously, with the full support of every member, but that hadn’t meant it was easy.

Despite what people thought of their task force at the time, they weren’t simply thugs or killers on the payroll of the police force. They were an elite squad who’d been trained in a large array of skills for the worst situations. Terrorist attacks, hostage situations, out of control riots in prisons. If a situation was endangering life, and the police couldn’t handle it, they were the ones called in. If anywhere in Australia needed them, they were brought in.

Joan had been their sharp-shooter. Whilst she had been trained in hand to hand combat, weaponry and other skills too numerous to name, she’d found that she had serious skill in shooting. So if a sniper was required, Joan would be called in. She had been picked out by Mark shortly after Jianna had died, and he’d found her hammering a punching bag with her fists in her usual gym. She’d been so angry and fuelled by the sudden loss that she’d thrown the bag off it’s hook in her fury. She was twenty seven at the time, had been at Blackmoore nearly five years and he’d been impressed by what he’d seen. He’d trained her, offered her a job and she’d grasped it with both hands. It wasn’t long before her reputation for sharp-shooting grew and she was always referred for a mission.

Until it went wrong. The now Governor of Wentworth tried not to dwell, but it had been the second to last mission she’d done, and a child, a little girl had been yanked in front of the target as the bullet had left the rifle. The original target, holding hostages at gunpoint for nearly four days had been killed but the little girl had lived, but the way the bullet had shattered her arm meant that she’d had to live her life without a right arm and Joan carried that guilt with her every day. After a final successful mission, she’d retired from it, despite her team and superiors not quite understanding but being supportive, nonetheless. They still caught up over the phone, or a facetime, but they hadn’t physically seen each other in six years. The last time she’d seen him in person was her fortieth birthday when the entire squad had turned up, unannounced at her apartment, with gifts, balloons and alcohol.

There were times that she missed them, desperately. Although she didn’t like to be too emotive, Melbourne was lonely when she compared it with Sydney, where they were based, as was their HQ. A welcome change of scenery at the time, but it was lonely because the people who’d been her family for so many years weren’t there.

The sharp knock on her door, drew her out of her musing, and she rose, and opened it herself, seeing Vera’s surprised face at the action.

“Thank you, Vera. I appreciate it.” Joan smiled at her, and she saw that Mark was looking between the two of them, with a raised eyebrow as he assessed what he saw in front of him. Then, a smug grin spread across his face, despite Joan’s glare at him. The young man next to him looked ready to faint, seeing the glare from the woman’s eyes.

“No problem. Give me a shout if you need me.” Vera nods at her with a small smile and walks off down the narrow corridor, her footsteps muffled by the carpet. When she turns the corner, Joan’s small smile fell off her face, and unleashed the full strength of her glare on the man in front of her.

Who is still smiling like he’s got some big secret.

“Get inside. Now.” She turns on her heel, and stalks back into the room, Mark following, and his little companion with him, shoving his hands into his pockets to stop their shaking after closing the door.

Mark is an average sized man, in fairly fit shape. He has very average facial features, and no special marks or facial hair that makes him stand out. Which is why he is perfect at his chosen profession. Joan always used to marvel at how the man can stand in the middle of a crowd, and blend in perfectly. He was unsuspicious and could start friendly chit-chat with everyone. They each had their specific skills within the team, and Mark’s had been hiding in plain sight.

Joan leaned against the desk, arms crossed.

“How are you, Joanie?” Joan’s eyebrow raises at the nickname, one he knows she hates. She pushes off the desk and comes to stand in front of Mark, toe to toe. For a second, the young man stood by the door thinks that one of them will swing for the other.

The exact opposite happens.

Almost simultaneously, the two open their arms, and embrace each other in a large bear hug, big grins on both of their faces.

After a beat, they let each other go, grasping at each others arms.

“How are you, girl?” His lip twitches.

“Fine. Busy. What on earth are you doing here?” Joan knew that Mark had respected her decision to walk away, and whenever they did see each other, it was always without formal identification or any of the uniforms that the squad was given. He was in front of her with both sets, the normal police issued one, and the specialised ID that every member on the team received. Which meant that this visit wasn’t a personal one. “What is that?” She motions towards the young man behind Mark.

“Oh, that’s James.”

“And James is?”

“Our latest recruit.” He turns to look at the man with a shock of blonde hair, and a thin frame, clad in black jeans, a t-shirt and a leather jacket. “Say hello James.”

Nervously, James raises his hand and waves, looking thoroughly intimidated by Joan and the fact that he was currently in a prison.

“James here, is our new tech guru. Amazing with a computer.”

Joan hums, eyes him once in curiosity and turns back to Mark. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. Mark knows from years of working together that she wants answers.

“We have a problem.” The look on his face is regretful, for only a second, and then he steels himself to tell her why he is currently taking up space in her office. He was truly sorry for invading her life, one that she’d built from the ground up nearly ten years ago. She’d built upon her previous career within corrections, and she’d raised through the ranks to Governor within two years, her skills from working with the squad making her a perfect fit. “We need you.”

Joan’s face falls, and then hardens. “No.”

Mark sighed. He knew she would say that. The only issue was that nobody had the skill that Joan had and right now, multiple lives were at risk if she didn’t help them. He also knew for a fact that Joan never let her skills diminish, she consistently trained to stay sharp.

“Joan, please. Hear me out.”

“Not a chance.” Joan looks at him, with hard eyes. “I told you when I left, that I was _done._ Completely done. And now you show up here? My place of work? Get out of here Mark, and take your tech support with you.” She stalks around the side of her desk, sitting in the chair with an angry sigh, and yanking her schedule from its normal place next to the phone.

The young man stood towards the back of her office moves towards the door, obviously intent on listening to her command for them to leave. Mark doesn’t move. Instead, he sits himself in one of the chair in front of her desk.

“Joanie.” He says the nickname he gave her all those years ago in a tone that is often used by children trying to get their parents to give them one final cookie. He should have known better, pleading did nothing but incite Joan’s ire. It always had done.

“No.”

“Look, I didn’t want to tell you this but…” Joan looked away from her notebook, to look at Mark’s face. “There’s kids at risk.”

“Where?”

“Here, in Melbourne.” Mark answers with short replies.

“What a load of shit, if there was anything going on to that level in Melbourne, I would have heard about it.”

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t so dire, and you know it Joan. Now stop being stubborn for a second and just listen to me.”

Sighing, Joan angrily slams her pencil down on the desk. “I’m sure you already have a sharp-shooter who can help you.”

Mark has the wherewithal to look guilty, at least. “She’s broken her fingers. Can’t pull a trigger. And she’s too green for this job.”

“Well isn’t that just handy.” Joan leans back in her chair, resting her chin in her hand.

“Stop being a sarcastic little shit.”

“Little? I’m taller than you, old man.”

“Everyone is taller than me Joanie, you aren’t special!”

And the bickering goes on and on. James feels like he’s watching a tennis match, his head on a swivel going back and forth as the two get more physical, gesturing with their hands and sitting on the edge of their seats, voices rising.

If he didn’t know that they weren’t blood related, James would have sworn that they were brother and sister.

Mark’s voice suddenly turns pleading. “Please Joan, there’s little kids at risk here.”

_“Fine._ But I want my old level of immunity back. Because I am NOT becoming an inmate in my own goddamn prison because you needed a favour, you jackass.” She slams her hand on the desk, making a bang, and Jason nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Done.” Mark’s answer is immediate. Joan knows without him saying a word that he’s already cleared the immunity and he likely has her preferred model of rifle in the transport vehicle, along with all the work clothing, including armour, she’ll need.

“We’ve also called in a favour with the board to get you time off to help us deal with it.”

Joan glances at him. “A favour?”

“A couple of favours. Either way, the board owes you big and would like to stay on your good side. Something to do with getting rid of a Channing on the quiet?”

Joan smirked. So the board had listened to her when she’d shoved a folder of evidence over the table at them, detailing Channing’s brothel half-houses and the name and number of a very reputable detective on a post it note.

“Hm.”

Jason watched as the ferocious woman reached back and began pulling hair pins from her hair, the tight bun loosening with each pin that hit the desk with a quiet tap. Eventually, Joan’s hair is shaken out around her shoulders and there’s a small mountain of pins on the surface of the desk. He still hadn’t spoken a word, terrified at the sheer aura of authority the woman had.

“I swear to God, Mark if I get shot again, I’m going to stab you in the foot.”

Mark just grinned, used to her threats. “Promises, promises.”

* * *

When Vera had been called back into Joan’s office (the woman’s name falling off her tongue with ease now. She only bothered calling her the Governor in front of inmates, and the other officers.) she’d been expecting to have to escort the two policemen back downstairs.

That wasn’t the case.

Joan smiled, and had waved her in, asking her to close the door.

Joan smiling wasn’t what made her stop in the doorway. It was the fact that her hair was down in work, and alcohol wasn’t involved. She always looked softer with her hair down, and in the light streaming in from the windows, it highlighted the thick black wave of hair, the few silver strands by her ears hidden by the way her head was turned.

“Vera, I need a favour.”

Joan watched as her deputy looked at her with curiosity.

“I’m going to be away for a few days, and I’ll need you to be Acting Governor in that time. Will that be alright with you?”

Vera nods, not needing to think twice. “It’s not a problem. Do you need anything to go with you?”

Mark and Joan share a look, one that Vera notices, and she sighs. Deeply.

“Alright, I know that you aren’t likely to tell me what’s going on, but YOU.” Here, Vera pointed a finger at Mark, and the man stared at her, not expecting the stern tone the woman sent his way. “You make sure that she comes back here, to me, in one piece, understand?” 

Joan looks at her, Vera can tell from the corner of her eye, but she is too focused on the man in front of her, who is looking at her in complete seriousness. She’d expected him to laugh.

Mark knew that he’d liked the woman upon his first impression of her. Petite, but with a spine of steel, Deputy Bennett had checked them in, but hadn’t allowed any wrong moves from either man and had been immediately suspicious when he’d practically demanded to see the Governor. And apparently, she thought highly of his Joan. Joan, who might as well be his sister.

Joan was having her own little moment, still sat behind her desk, watching as Vera warned Mark as if he was a wayward teenager. The Governor noticed immediately that Vera had said she wanted her brought back in one piece to _her._ They were very good friends, Joan would freely admit that. The debriefs they shared, the two women had found a camaraderie, firstly around their work in Wentworth and then later, on terrible parents. Vera gaining confidence to put her mother into a hospice after getting some reassurance from Joan. Not to mention, Joan offered some very effective advice with how to deal with her Fletcher problem. Now the man wouldn’t even look at her. Vera in return, had offered a safe space to unwind about past trauma, and letting issues go. She even knew about Jianna, and at first Joan had wondered whether she would use that information against her. All she’d done was hug her, and wouldn’t let go, offering security.

But she never thought Vera would feel so strongly for her safety, or for her.

“Do you understand me, Sergeant?” This time, Vera’s voice has steel in it. She isn’t joking, and Mark can see that in her eyes. He stares back at her, and slowly, he smiles and nods his head.

“Clear as crystal, Deputy.” He held his hand out, as a gesture of peace, which Vera grasped firmly. “I’ll make sure she comes back to you.”

“Safe and sound?”

“As much as I can.”

Here, Vera lets go of Mark’s hand, turning to look at the other woman in the room, who by now has stood and made her way around the desk.

She launches herself at the taller woman, wrapping her arms around her easily, and squeezing with all her might. Mark catches Joan’s eye and waggles his eyebrows, and the woman raises an eyebrow at him. Then, she turns her attention back to her curly haired friend, and hugs her, matching her intensity.

“You keep yourself safe, got it?” Her voice is muffled by Joan’s work jacket, but she can hear her perfectly.

“Promise.” She whispers back, and can feel Vera nodding.

James is stood behind Mark, peeking over his shoulder at the two women hugging as if Joan was going off to war. They’re obviously together, he thinks, there’s no way that much emotion would be present in the hug otherwise. The deputy must be really worried, he thinks.

Joan relaxes into the hug, and Vera lets her go. Joan grasps her upper arms, making the sleeves of Vera’s work jacket crinkle as she looks at her.

“It wont be more than a few days. It should be less than that, but I’ll have my phone. Keep in touch if anything is worrying you, alright?” Joan looks her in the eye. Vera smiles softly, appreciating her gentleness.

Joan lets go and walks quickly over to her desk, and opens a drawer, grabbing her little plastic pocket filled with her belongings and her car keys.

Mark and James stand outside the office waiting for her and before she walks out the door, Vera pulls her back into a hug again, causing the taller woman to grin as she feels the strength that the deputy hides underneath her uniform. She bends her head down and presses a quick kiss to her cheek.

“Keep safe in this madhouse, Vera.”

“Promise.” She whispers back, repeating the same promise Joan gave her.

They separate, and Vera stands by the door as Joan gestures for the two men to follow her and she stalks off down the corridor, and Vera can hear the door close around the corner, and the sound of Joan’s heels become more distant. She holds a hand up to the cheek that Joan had kissed, and she can't stop the wide grin spreading on her face, despite her worry. 

_Please be safe_ , she thinks to herself. 


	2. She's Been Missed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan reconnects with her people. 
> 
> Jason is either terrified or in awe of her. 
> 
> And we learn a bit more about what caused Joan to walk away in the first place, and what's the situation that the team needed her help with.

Joan is quiet as they drive towards the main headquarters of Melbourne Police. According to Mark, the team had been given the run of the twelfth floor for their operation, and James had piped in, saying that they really had taken over.

_I can’t believe I let him bring me back into this._

Joan had loved her career in the past, and had been proud of it. She was proud of her corrections career, but this one held a special place with her. But all the same, all she can think of as they turn into the car park of the headquarters, is the face of the little girl who’s arm was rendered useless by her bullet. And she still feels guilt over that.

“Joanie, get out of your head. I can hear you thinking from here.” Mark catches her hand, bringing her attention to his face. “That little girl wasn’t your fault. What were you supposed to do? Slap your hand over the end of the gun? Let it go, she doesn’t blame you.”

Joan eyes him in suspicion. He says that with such certainty, it makes her wonder. Her stare turns into a glare and Mark sighs.

“She competed in the Youth Olympic League last month. She won gold in archery. She thanked you in her speech after accepting the medal. Called you an angel in Kevlar. It was all very sweet, actually.”

“You’re only telling me this NOW!?” The volume of her voice makes James wince, and slide down a little in his seat in the back of the car. The heat in it makes his hands sweat. Joan’s glare is fury incarnate. “Ten years I’ve held onto the guilt that I _ruined_ that little girl’s life, and now you tell me ‘oh nah, its fine.’ What the fuck, Mark?!” Her voice raises in pitch, pointing at the man in the driver’s seat as he reaches over and yanks open the compartment by Joan’s knees, grabbing his phone.

He holds a finger up at her, and James wants to hide in the footwell of the car when he sees the woman’s face. He’ll deny that he saw her eye twitch until the day he dies.

“Get your finger out of my face Mark, or I swear I’ll break it off!”

“Shut up, watch this.” He shoves the mobile phone into her hands, a video open to play on the screen of the iPhone. She gives him one last glare, and then turns her attention to the video, pressing play.

It’s a young teenager, thirteen years old stood on a podium with a gold medal around her neck and holding a trophy. Her left arm is replaced with a prosthetic, sleek grey, attached to her shoulder. On the wrist is a gold bracelet, similar to a bangle, with two charms on it. She’s wearing black gym leggings and a fitted t-shirt with her sponsor on the front. The prosthetic arm is holding the heavy looking trophy with ease, and she waves with her right hand to someone off camera. After a minute, she speaks into the microphone.

“ _I lost my arm when I was four. Me and my aunty had been to the museum, with my cousins and this crazy guy decided to hold everyone hostage. He would have killed me, ya know? There was a shooter, a sniper I think the proper name is, and she shot him. He pulled me in the way before the bullet reached him, and it went through my arm before getting him. I owe everything to that woman. He was going to shoot me in the head, instead I got a cool new arm. We joke in my house, that she was my angel in Kevlar. So if she’s watching, thanks. You saved me.”_ The speech is shakily said, with obvious nervousness, but she smiles through it all, and Joan notices the braces on her teeth.

The video cuts out as the teenager smiles sheepishly and steps down out of sight of the camera. Joan closes the phone screen with the push of a button.

She sits for a moment, and the car is silent. Mark looks at her, waiting for her to process it, knowing exactly how long the guilt had eaten at the woman that he considered his sister. How she’d thrown the rifle into the corner of the locker room once they had reached back on the base after the incident. His mind recalls the furious, and vengeful shrieking and the clanging of the metal lockers as object after object were thrown around the room as she’d broken down after the event. He remembers her sliding down the wall in between the lockers, burying her face in her hands and sobbing, curled up in a ball. It had taken all of them, the entire team to convince her out of the little spot, and they’d all curled around her on the sofa, offering reassurances and comfort.

It had taken four hours for her to calm down. Mark had seen her resolution to retire that day, he’d seen it when she’d hurled the empty rifle away from her, as if touching it burned her. She’d refused to touch it for nearly two weeks, and in the end, the department had to offer a completely different rifle model to use before she even considered target training again.

Mark had known that she would have one more mission with them, and then she’d walk away. The team had understood completely. Joan hadn’t even needed to explain, they’d convened on her for a group hug and told her that they would text her and call her every day and that they would facetime her every week.

They’d kept that promise too.

Joan swallows thickly, and blinks quickly to dissipate the wetness from her eyes.

_Ten years, and she’s a champion. I didn’t ruin her life after all._

“Let it go, Joanie.” Mark whispers at her, rubbing her hand. “She’s spectacular.”

Joan sighs deeply, feeling that gut feeling unwind and she can breathe easier again.

She locks eyes with Mark. “Let’s go.”

She leaves her work jacket in the car, along with her tie. She wont need it here. Here, she isn’t Governor Ferguson, she’s Joan.

Soon enough they’re in the lift, flying upwards to the twelfth floor, and Jason is stood in the corner, and keeps peeking a look at her when he thinks she isn’t looking. It’s almost adorable, she thinks. 

“What on earth have you told that boy about me? I sneezed and he nearly wet his trousers, Mark.”

Mark grins at him over his shoulder. “Don’t know what to tell you, girl. You’re terrifying.”

“Remarks like that are why you dislocated your shoulder twice.”

“Last I checked, you were the one to dislocate it. Both times.”

“Minor details, I’m sure.”

The lift doors open and they step out into a hubbub of activity. There’s papers everywhere, screens on with news reports rolling across them in different locations. The noise level is atrocious, with calls of names, details and report numbers being flung across the open space, to people rushing around holding out mobiles for someone to speak to.

Joan revels in it.

It’s a different kind of cacophony to that of a prison. Here, everyone is on the same side, and noise doesn’t mean that something has happened, or someone has had a sharpened toothbrush shoved into their throat.

She walks with Mark, matching his pace and Jason trots behind them, short legs trying to keep up. They reach the center of the cacophony and when the people start to realise that Mark has returned, they all go quiet.

And then a loud screech from the other end of the office.

“JOAN!”

A blonde sprints towards them, not slowing for the people in front of her, and not caring if she bumps them out of the way. The petite woman launches herself at Joan when she’s close enough, wrapping her arms around her neck and squeezing with all her might.

“Josie, still causing trouble then?”

Josie natters on in Joan’s ear, not willing to let the woman go yet and Joan happily reciprocates the hug. Josie was the youngest of the team, and had been trained in the year before Joan had left. Apparently the legend of the black haired woman had remained strong, and Josie facetimed her the most, along with the others. Bouncy, petite and curvy, Josie could hold her own with any mechanical problem. An engineer by trade, she made sure that every piece of kit the team went into the fray with worked at its best every time.

And Josie thought the world of Joan. Hence the spine crushing hug.

“Jos, let her breathe, Jesus.” Mark laughs, watching as Joan is squeezed by the energetic blonde.

“Just wait until I tell Alex that you’re back!” She cries, letting go and stepping back.

“Only for this one, Josie.”

The blonde’s face falls in disappointment. “Really?” At Joan’s nod, she rallies, offering a big grin and a tug on her hand. “Oh well, we get to all catch up then, don’t we?” She squeezes her one last time, and spins on her heel, running back the way she came, hollering for the rest of the team.

Joan had her hand shaken more times than she could count, along with far too many ‘Your work is legendary!’ comments when a small mob advances on her from the way Josie had sprinted from.

The first one to leap at her is Alex, with his olive skin and dark curly hair. He is noticeable anywhere and is never sent undercover alone due to the fact that girls seem to be drawn to him. Much to his boyfriend’s annoyance. He hugs Joan, tucking his head under her chin whilst wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Joanie!” His voice is piqued with excitement and her meets her eyes with a wide grin and a friendly peck on the cheek.

Apparently, now Alex has had his hug, the rest of them convene on her in one fell swoop and eventually, Joan can’t keep her footing and they all fall the ground in a large pile. All Mark and Jason can see is the prison regulation heels sticking out and they can hear the boisterous laughter.

All of the team are there. Tessa, a petite woman with riotous curls, who is fluent in eight languages and can hack into systems as if it were child-play. Charlie, a large man, taller than Joan was highly skilled in combat and was easily the strongest of all them. Ingrid was the most quiet, but held a PhD in criminal psychology and further qualifications in forensic psychology. She was also the shortest of the team which made people underestimate her, until she body slammed them into the floor with strength hidden in her body from years of gymnastics and dancing. 

Eventually Mark has to call for order, and the entire team end up crammed into a small office, waiting for the man’s briefing of the situation.

“So, I wont beat around the bush here, we have kids involved in this. I want this solved quickly, efficiently and with very little violence if we can help it.”

He taps the laptop, bringing up the grainy surveillance footage that they have, pointing to the man with bad posture, lugging a large and obviously heavy backpack into the shopping centre. They don’t get much detail from the man on the screen due to the bad quality, which they’re used to from surveillance near shopping centers.

Mark pauses the video of the suspect entering the center.

“So, we know he’s got at least twelve kids, and six adults holed up by the fountain in the center of the place. The twelve kids are on a school trip, and they’re all between 6 and 7 years old. Two of the adults are their teachers. So far, there’s been no reported injuries.”

The team wait, knowing that he’s not finished.

“There’s plenty of space for our Joan to find a nook to sit in and get her aim, the only problem we have is that he’ll see her coming if she advances towards it on foot.” Mark looks at each of them. “When they built the place, apparently they were obsessed with glass dividers.”

Nobody laughs, the situation is too serious for that, but some of them allow themselves a small grin at Mark’s attempt at humour.

“So we’ll get you in through the roof. He wont be able to see anybody scaling the building, so we’ll go up the north side, onto the roof and then drop into the Build-A-Bear shop here, which is the closest we can get on foot without being seen.”

“Seriously, why a Build-A-Bear?” Alex moans, grimacing. “Teddy bears are creepy, mate.”

Tessa leans across on her toes, and whacks the back of his head, causing the man to hunch over and rub where her palm had hit.

“Any questions?” Seeing none, Mark nods. “Alright, we’ll all have our usual earpieces in and codenames will be active.” Here, he nods at Jason, who nods and goes to stand by Mark, a nervous gait in his walk. He takes a breath, and then he fills with confidence as he speaks.

“So, codenames. Mark is Papa Bear,” the man in question opens his mouth to complain but Jason cuts him off. “Alex, you’re Casanova, no complaining, thank you.” Alex huffs and crosses his arms.

“Josie, you’re Iron Man.” The mechanic pumps her fist in the air, hissing a ‘Fuck Yeah!’ under her breath.

“Tess, you’re JARVIS.”

“Josie gets to be the superhero but I’m the fucking ROBOT!?”

“I will take no questions at this time. Charlie, you’re Himbo.” The large man shrugs, and nods.

“I don’t know if that’s a name I should be offended about? I don’t care, either way.”

“Ingrid, you’re gonna be Harley.”

“Cool.”

“And Joan…” Everyone holds their breath, waiting to hear what codename would be assigned to the woman who’d returned to help them.

“…you’re gonna be Joan because quite frankly, you terrify me.”

The woman breathed a sigh of relief. She’d had her fair share of ridiculous codenames assigned to her on missions, and to be fair, the ridiculous ones worked. If people heard them, it gave them some bias for what they would look for in the person they thought were connected to them. So if they were overheard talking to ‘Iron Man’ they would assume the gender, or the fact that they were either crazy or talking about the comics. 

“Alright people. Let’s get suited up and move out!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! 
> 
> As always, thank you for all the comments and kudos they really do keep me going <3


	3. A Job Well Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan gets back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Mention of guns, bullets and Joan being a sniper, but it isn't graphic.*

_I’ve not worn this uniform in a long fucking time,_ she thinks. _But it’s still bulky and stiff to move in._

She’d changed before leaving the HQ that the team had stationed themselves in, and she’d walked out of the building wearing a black, long sleeved turtleneck and black trousers that started high on her waist, and were tucked into black boots. Around her thighs, she had spare bullets strapped as well as a knife clipped into a sheath. She’d looked at Mark with scepticism when he’d handed it to her once they’d pulled up some distance away from the shopping centre, but he’d asked her to humour him. She’d pulled on Kevlar, a bulky vest with multiple bullets, pockets and ‘SWAT’ emblazoned on the back. Then, they’d gotten into position.

 _Motherfucker!_ Joan thought as she moved her sight on her rifle again as the target moved. They’d managed to get inside the shopping centre with little issue. They’d snuck in through the roof as they’d planned, and so far the man currently holding children hostage by the fountain had no idea that they were on the scene. Alex had whined under his breath when they’d set up their base of operations in the back storeroom of the Build-A-Bear but Tessa had whacked his arm and he’d quietened down. The stern look that Joan and Ingrid had shot him helped.

_“Joan?”_ It’s Mark’s voice in her ear, checking on her, and she’s reminded that Mark hoped to have this entire issue dealt with as quickly as possible.

She’s hidden up in an alcove, tucked high above on a balcony that is used by maintenance workers to string Christmas lights and decorations in December. She can see the target clearly through her sight on the rifle, and it would be a fairly easy to get the job over and done with, but there was something that was bothering her about the way he was acting. From her vantage point, she could hear his voice, and he kept referring to himself as ‘we’ and talking and ranting about issues concerning ‘the group’

“I need your expertise, Harley.” Joan says, using Ingrid’s code name and hearing the woman answer, she continued. “Do we actually know if this idiot is affiliated with anyone?”

“ _Give me a sec…”_

Joan can hear the clicking of a keyboard and Ingrid murmuring with Tessa, and then muttered cursing.

“ _Shit, how did we miss that? He’s neo-nazi.”_

 _“_ Well I guessed that, considering that he’s made the children sit in groups based on their skin colour.” Joan murmured, keeping an eye on the man that was prowling up and down in front of the children and adults cowering up against the fountain. He’s holding a small gun, which was a surprise in itself, considering how strict Australia was with it’s gun laws. They weren’t easy for unconnected people to get a hold of. The heavy backpack that they’d watched him carry in through the security cameras was open wide, showing the wide array of weapons spilling out. The fact that he had so many begged the question, was this guy as unconnected as they first assumed?

“ _He’s got friends with similar…interests, shall we say, but there’s not hint of anything that could point towards him mobilising with a troop of people for this.”_

She didn’t like the sound of this. If she shot to kill, then they’d lose an opportunity to find a bigger group of potentially dangerous individuals.

“Mark.”

“ _Copy.”_

 _“_ Check whether Domestic Terrorism wants this guy. He gets popped in the head, then they lose a chance at catching a much bigger fish.” Mark is quiet for a moment, and Joan can guess that he’s reading whatever Tess and Ingrid had pulled up on the screen. He sighs.

“ _Give me ten minutes. Just keep an eye on him for now. If anyone’s safety becomes an issue, you take him out.”_

 _“_ Copy, loud and clear.” She confirms, dropping her shoulder but still watching the target on the floor below. If there was a chance that this idiot could be useful, then they would have him. This was how she and Mark worked well, he respected the fact that whilst they might have their orders, Joan was very good at seeing a bigger picture and picking up on cues that some might have missed.

The target hadn’t ceased in his pacing, and the hostages were mostly calm, for now. They were mostly watching him, their heads moving back and forth in the same way that spectators would watch a tennis match.

Joan knew that could all change in a second.

Then her earpiece crackles slightly, and she knows that Mark is back.

“ _Joan. The DT Unit want him, new orders. He’s to be kept alive, if possible. They’re willing to forfeit him if he goes for any of the hostages.”_ Mark’s voice is hard, and the Domestic Terrorism Unit had obviously thrown their hat into the ring to have him.

She readjusted her rifle, looking through the sight at the target again.

“ _Himbo and Casanova are going to get down to the ground level, and get him when you take a shot. Once the hostages are secured and safe, Police and Ambulance will get on the scene and secure him.”_

So Charlie and Alex would be finding a way down to a store close enough to grab the target. She’d need to wait for confirmation that they were in position before being able to set her target. She hoped beyond hope that he wouldn’t do anything stupid that would result in a bullet in the brain.

That train of thought makes her pause. She’d never had a problem getting on with a job, she never got particularly invested, so why was she now?

 _Must be out of touch,_ she thinks. _Concentrate._

 _“Joan? We’re in position. The Kmart, north of the fountain.”_ Charlie’s voice is low, and Joan carefully pokes her head out to confirm that they’re there. They’d obviously snuck through the back of the Build-a-Bear upstairs, sprinted down the back stairways used by the staff and gained entry through the stockroom of the Kmart.

Focusing, she can spot Alex’s curls hidden behind one display, and Charlie’s disguised his height behind a counter of fluffy teddy bears and other toys. Joan isn’t worried about the fact that she can see them, she was high enough to be able to see into most of the storefronts with ease, but the target wouldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The two were in easy distance to be able to run out and get the target to the ground once her part was done.

“ _Ready when you are, Joanie.”_ Mark confirms, and Joan rests the butt of the rifle against her shoulder. She gazes through her sight, aiming carefully so that the a non-fatal location on the target’s body aligns in the centre of the plus on the glass.

_“Shot location, left calf, non-fatal.” S_ he confirms her intended shot, a habit that she’d kept from back in the day. It became a small game between her and Mark, with money usually being passed between the two depending on how close to her target location that her bullet landed. Mark lost his money, every time.

“ _Want to put some money on that, Joanie-girl?”_ She smirks. Same old Mark.

She aligns her target on the neo-nazi’s left calf, and as he begins to gesture with the gun towards a young, black child, she glares and pulls the trigger once before he can move any further.

_Racist bastard._

The gun doesn’t make a sound as the bullet leaves the barrel of the rifle, the silencer doing its job and Joan watches with an angry stare as the target flinches and then jumps up as pain shoots up his lower leg. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices how children push back against the fountain, trying to keep the distance between them and the man, who still held a tight grip on the gun. He waved it around wildly, trying to figure out where the cause of the pain in his leg had come from.

“ _Joan! ONE MORE!”_ Mark’s voice was urgent, and the first piece of training she’d received goes through her head.

_A gun in someone’s hand, is always a ticking time bomb. Doesn’t matter if they’re out cold, or injured, if its still in their hand, they’re still a threat._

She quickly re-aligns her target, and this time, aims a little higher. Her finger pauses over the trigger, stilling her body and then pulling the trigger.

The butt of the rifle bumps back into her shoulder with the kickback and she watches as the bullet hits just above the target’s knee.

The casing falls from her rifle, falling from her little balcony and clattering to the marble floor below.

The target has dropped the handgun to focus on his bleeding leg, dropping to one knee and wailing in pain. Joan keeps an eye on her team as Alex and Charlie shoot out of the Kmart, sprinting and tackling the now injured man to the ground.

The air was filled with shouting, screams, and panicked noise. The children were huddled together, having skittered back towards the adults, who were all watching with horrified fascination as the man was wrestled to the ground by Charlie’s large bulk, and Alex keeps his legs steady.

“ _Target secured!”_

It’s a huge bustle of movement after that. The rest of the team pour out of the Build-A-Bear, and down to where the fountain was located as Joan begins to pull her rifle into two pieces, to make it easier to carry down from the balcony. Heavily armoured SWAT teams appear, shouting orders and carefully casing every corner for potential threats before focusing in on the bleeding man held down on the ground. One group break away, and begin to shepherd the hostages towards the nearest exit and the backup that convened.

When she steps down from the final step of the balcony, Mark is stood there with her rifle case.

“Perfectly done, as always Joanie.” He smirks at her, holding out her case, lifting the lid so that she can slot the pieces of her rifle into the spaces in the foam inside the case. They walk back to the Build-A-Bear, passing past the displays and boxes filled with teddy bears waiting to be filled with fluff into the back storeroom.

“Still certain that I can’t tempt you back to us?” Mark asks her, watching as she unstraps the upper body armour. She pulls it over her head and then folds it together, placing it on the lid of one of the gun cases. He watches as she fondly smiles at him and shakes her head. “You know me, had to ask.”

She tightens her ponytail, and then places her hands on her hips.

“I’m glad that you came to me for help, Mark.” She smiles fondly. He holds out one arm and she walks into his hug, and he squeezes with all his might. He’d known Joan a long time, and he thought of her as his little sister. Nothing could ever change that. He’d trained her, helped her and she’d pulled him up the scruff of his shirt and shaken him, given him some tough love when he needed it and they’d watched each other’s backs. Then, they’d slowly built the team, becoming the family unit that worked well.

They work in silence, unhooking the portable tablets, phones and various spare weapons into the cases, making sure that nothing was forgotten. Mark occasionally throws a teddy bear at her, and she bats it away with her hand, grinning at his antics.

Then they hear it.

_“Joan!”_

Concerned, she walks towards the door to the storeroom, hearing Alex and Ingrid’s voices getting closer, shouting the entire way. 

“ _JOAN!”_

She yanks open the door, seeing the young man and woman sprinting towards her.

“What?” She asks, seeing the worried look on Alex’s face as Ingrid catches her breath. “What’s the matter?!”

Ingrid bends over, resting her hands on her knees, breathing heavily. “Its…" She heaves a breath, "...Wentworth.”

Her back stiffens, unsure as to what they were trying to tell her.

“Joan, it’s the prisoners. They’re rioting.”

She freezes, her blood running cold. But Alex wasn’t finished.

“They’ve got Vera.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I appreciate every single kudos and comment <3 You lovely people!


	4. Emergency at Wentworth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan shows the women at Wentworth exactly who's the Governor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Some descriptions of violence, guns, bullets and a riot*
> 
> Decided to make this 5 Chapters instead of 4, so I can write you guys a great ending!

_“They’ve got Vera.”_

Joan feels like she can’t breathe for a second, and then there’s a loud, rushing sound in her ears, almost as if she’s underwater.

“What the _fuck_ do you mean, they’ve got VERA?!” Her voice starts off quietly, but she’s nearly shouting by the end, and Alex flinches, remembering past incidences where Joan had lost her temper.

All Mark hears is that Vera is in a potentially life-threatening situation, and he understands immediately why Joan is reacting the way that she is. She’s clenched her fists, and her jaw, and he can _see_ her teeth grinding in stress.

She’s heaving, nostrils flared and her lips a thin line as she glares at Alex.

“Joan.” He reaches for her, and when he gets close to her wrist, she flinches in reflex and he grabs her arm, spinning her around and grasping his hands on her upper arms. “JOAN!”

“What!?” She’s yelling through clenched teeth, fury written across her face.

“Listen to them. They wouldn’t tell you half a story, and you know it.” He keeps his voice level, knowing that to match her tone would only make it worse. Her eyes flick from his face to the case that her rifle is currently locked into and then back to his eyes. “Alex, report. Now. Before Joan decides to blow up her prison.”

“We have new orders.” Ingrid steps forward, and moves into Joan’s line of sight deliberately, reciting what she’s been told like she’s describing a recipe. “They’ve managed to get access to the upper offices, using Vera as a way of gaining access. SESG has been stood down due to the fact that they’ve breached your office. There’s three of them currently holding her in your office, and the rest of the women are scattered in the yard and the housing units. We’ve been dispatched there ASAP.”

Mark watches as the information filters into Joan’s brain, and he can practically see the cogs turning. The second that inmates took officers hostage, they were dispatched to the scene, this was beyond was SESG could cope with and the threat to the officers's life, in particular, was higher. Mark knows that Joan knows these statistics and odds and he can see her going over them.

“Mark.” His name is a growl through clenched teeth. “Get my gun.”

She doesn’t need to tell him twice.

* * *

The team meet them at the doors to the shopping centre, and they rush towards the vehicles they’d used to arrive there, Joan leading the way.

They’re a few feet away when a loud shot breaks through the air, and a sharp pain shoots across Joan’s arm and shoulder. She staggers, crouched down and then looks towards the gathered crowd of curious onlookers behind the police cordon, who have screamed and ducked to the floor in fear as a man in a dark hoodie pointed the gun in the direction of the team and fired, aiming for any of them.

Police on the scene tackle him to the ground immediately, as the team crowd around Joan, concerned over her wellbeing and her arm. Later, when the clock is nearing midnight, she’ll think back and realise how right her hunch had been about the fact that the neo-nazi terrorist hadn’t been acting alone. But for now, she’s too preoccupied with getting to Wentworth, and Vera.

She waves them off, not feeling the injury yet, the adrenaline running strong through her veins, and she gets to her feet, yanks open the door to the large SUV, and gets in, barking orders for them to hurry up.

Mark jumps into the driver’s seat, remembering with vivid recollection, what Joan’s threat had been in her office earlier that morning.

_…I’ll stab you in the foot._

He’s pulling out of the car park as quickly as he can, trying not to think on her threat. Getting stabbed by the woman always hurt. Not to mention his promise to Vera.

The vehicle is silent, nobody willing to break it, and knowing that there isn’t anything they can say until Joan has the situation in hand.

* * *

As a motorcade of SUV’s and police escorts, they speed into Wentworth’s car park, where a crowd of concerned family is being held back by officers, drawn to the prison by the news reports, and she recognises the blonde hair of Linda standing towards the entrance holding a gauze compress up to her neck and looking haggard.

She, along with a handful of Wentworth’s officers, watch as the black, shiny vehicles arrive, curious as to what they meant.

She nearly drops the compress when she sees Governor Joan Ferguson step out of the passenger seat of one, dressed like some sort of sniper from a movie. She notices how the turtleneck is ripped by her upper arm and shoulder, and she’s bleeding, fairly steadily.

She remembered that Vera had told her that the governor had been called away, potentially for a few days but she hadn’t been fully listening to all the details. She wishes that she had now, it looks like she'd missed out on some good information.

She watches as the woman barks orders to the people grouped around her, who nod immediately, and fly towards the back of two SUV’s, pulling cases from the open doors. She watches as the Governor’s head turns and catches sight of her, her eyebrow raising. She murmurs something to a man stood next to her, who nods and then watches as she stalks towards Linda.

“Miss Miles, I need a status update. What can you tell me?” She orders, and Linda blinks, trying to avoid looking at the woman’s shoulder, and the arm of the turtleneck that is currently soaked in blood. “Miss Miles. Now!” The familiar tone makes Linda stand up straight, and she parrots to her what she’d told the first responding SESG team.

“It’s Gambarro that’s taken Vera, along with two of her group. The rest of the women just took advantage of the situation. They’ve got Will and Fletch cornered in the yard, and some of the others have managed to barricade themselves in the slot, and the medical unit. My priority was to get Sophie out of the building.”

Sophie is Joan’s secretary, and is eight months pregnant. She was due to go off on maternity leave in two weeks, although it was likely that she wouldn’t return to work after this.

Joan nods. “That was a good shout. Well done. What else?” Linda doesn’t even hear the praise, she’s too preoccupied with making sure that the Governor has all the information that she needs.

“I didn’t even know that Gambarro had Vera until I got out here and they wouldn’t let me go back in. I heard them over the radio. They’re threatening to gang her if they don’t get what they want.”

Linda is tremendously glad that she has never given the woman cause to look at her the way she is currently looking towards the building. Her expression is livid, her mouth pursed and her jaw tense. Linda can practically hear her teeth grinding. She can see the specks of dried blood dotted up her neck.

“As soon as they reached the admin offices, and…well, your office, Gov, the SESG refused to storm it. Too big a risk to life and that they needed to call in a specialised team.”

The blonde relaxes, having given all the information that she can and she watches as Joan nods once, resolutely.

“Well, they did. I’m the specialist.” She meets Linda’s eyes, which are wide and shocked. “After I’m done, we’ll sort some time away for you to recuperate from this, get you sorted, alright?”

Linda can only nod.

“Well done Linda. You did good.”

She watches as the Governor turns on her heel, and storms back to the vehicles, giving more orders.

Slowly, her slides down to sit on the curb, hand still holding the gauze.

* * *

Mark already has her rifle case open when she reaches the SUV, and her team are set up inside it, laptops open and earpieces in.

Mark silently holds one out.

“We’ve got our orders to bring control back, in whatever means possible. Vera is apparently very well liked.”

Joan smiles, taking the earpiece and setting it up in her right ear. “She has that effect on most people that she meets. Do they know that I will be handling it?” Mark is nodding his head before she’s finished her question.

“They think it’s a good thing. Inmates will be less likely to pull this shit again if they know that their Governor has no problem setting up a rather large gun and knows how to use it.” He smirks at her. She’s assembling her rifle as he speaks, and then he has to stifle a laugh when Joan unscrews the silencer, and tosses it back into the case without a second glance.

“You’re going for the loud approach, then?” He questions, gesturing with his head towards the discarded piece of metal.

“No.” She clicks the final piece into place and looks at him. “I’m going for the ‘I’m in fucking charge’ approach.”

* * *

Tessa proves to be worth her weight in gold. She’s managed to get access to the cameras, along with the floorplans. Not that Joan needs them. Her plan is to get access to the roof on the building directly opposite her office windows, so she’ll be able to see every inch of the room, and her targets.

She has no issue with shooting Lucy Gambarro’s repugnant head off of her shoulders.

Whatever questioning that she’d done earlier in the shopping centre was forgotten, her worry for Vera’s safety taking over.

So far, the plan is to get up to the roof of the building, with as little attention as possible, with Mark and Alex following. Then once they’ve managed to get a sight on what is going on in her office, she plans to shoot one bullet into the wall next to the window to gain the inmates attention in the yard. Ingrid had suggested it, as the noise and commotion would draw the other prisoners out into the yard, giving the SESG, Charlie and Ingrid time to get through the building and up to the admin offices where Joan’s office was located.

Then, Joan would do what she needed to get the threat to Vera neutralised, so that the SESG could storm the office to get her.

As far as plans go, it’s a simple but effective one.

Joan adjusts her rifle in her arms, not bothering with Kevlar this time, but keeping the spare bullets and knife strapped around her thighs. She looks at her team who are waiting for her signal to go.

“Let’s get this done.”

* * *

Linda blinks as the Governor storms past with two men behind her and calls out to her.

“Gov! Wait!” She rushes up to the woman, who’s turned her head, and Linda suddenly realises just how big a gun that the Governor is holding, with ease.

“Here.” She hands over her radio, to the older man. “In case you need to hear what’s being said by Gambarro if she makes contact.”

Joan raises an eyebrow, nods at her and then turns, continuing through the gate and around the corner of the fencing to begin her trek along the outer wall to the maintenance stairs of the building opposite her office windows.

All Linda can do is shake her head and go back to sitting on the curb.

* * *

It doesn’t take long to find the stairs, and Alex yanks it open, Mark going up in front in case there were any surprises waiting for them on the roof.

He opens the door at the top of the metal stairs, cautiously looking around but the roof was empty. The barbed wire, and un-climbable paint meant that prisoners couldn’t get up here without gaining access to a master key to the door, and knew the code for the door before the roof. It didn’t stop them trying, but those that did often ended up in the medical bay for a few days.

The creep forward, hunched over, and Alex readjusts his own rifle strung over his back. The difference between these guns and Joan’s is that the two men only had non-lethal ammunition. If they needed to use them, at least they had them.

Joan uses one hand to open the two metal legs attached to barrel of the rifle, and sets it down a little distance away from the raised edge of the roof, resting the butt of the gun on her thighs as she perches on her knees. Then reaching behind her into her back pocket, she tugs out a pair of leather gloves, tailored specifically to her hands and gently opens the two buttons at the top and slips them on. The gloves are a supple, black leather that end above her wrist with two button clasps, feel luxurious on her hands. Originally meant to protect her skin from hot casings when they fell, they quickly became a part of her uniform.

She shifts her body so that she’s on her front, one leg bent up, and the other straight, the perfect height for the sight to be able to see directly into the windows of her office, and she fidgets until the butt of the gun is in a comfortable position against her uninjured shoulder. Through the sight she can see Gambarro, holding the radio in one hand, and gesturing towards Vera with the other as she’s sat in a chair, one of Gambarro’s little groupies next to her.

“Joan, we’re clear to go when you are.” Mark confirms, keeping low to avoid being seen by anyone in the yard. Alex nods, wordlessly saying that he would follow Mark’s lead and stay out of sight as much as possible.

“Oh,” Joan sighs in satisfaction. “This is going to be _fun.”_

The sound of the bullet hitting the wall isn’t what gets the women’s attention, down in the yard. It’s the crack of noise that comes when the bullet leaves the gun. Multiple cries of “ _What the fuck was that?!”_ and _“What is that?!”_ make her smirk.

“You might as well get one more in,” Mark says, seeing the grin on her face.

“Well, if you insist.” She lets loose another bullet, and it pings off the brick next to the window of her office, and louder, panicked shouts come from below.

“ _That’s a fucking gun!”_

_“Where the fuck would it come from then, dumbass?!”_

_“It’s a FUCKING GUN!”_

She lets them stew in their own panic, this takedown was as much psychological as it was physical. As Ingrid had suggested, women sprint out of the building, pouring outside in a sea of teal and white t-shirts, trying to see what was going on.

Ingrid’s voice comes through their earpieces.

“ _The two officers stuck in the yard look worried, Joan. Are you having fun taking potshots?”_ There’s a slight scolding tone in her voice, buried deeply under the amusement. “ _T_ _he psychologist in me wants to tell you that it’s not nice to play with someone, psychologically speaking.”_

 _“_ Tell your inner psychologist to pipe down, Ingrid. This has been a long time coming.” Is all she answers with, and Ingrid laughs and agrees.

She focuses on the office windows again, seeing that Gambarro and one of the other women have come closer to the window to see what’s causing the commotion down in the yard. She watches as the fat, short woman lifts the radio to her mouth, and Joan grimaces, giving herself a mental reminder to disinfect all the radios later.

“ _Any funny business, and I’ll make sure that Vinegar Tits will be walking funny for weeks!”_

The Governor lets out an angry growl from behind clenched teeth. Mark glances over to her, concerned, as Alex keeps an eye for any sudden movements down below.

“Give me the radio, Mark.” She holds out one hand, expecting him to place the device in her hand. Mark hesitates, and then Joan clicks her fingers and holds her hand flat. Sighing, he hands it over. Goddamn stubborn woman.

Pressing down on the button to speak, she holds it up to her face. “Hello, Gambarro. Want to tell me why you’re in my office?”

She watches through the sight of the rifle as the three women in teal in the room jump and stare at the radio and then Joan can see them gesturing wildly. One of them goes to the window but Joan knows that due to the high lip on the edge of the roof, she wont be seen. Gambarro doesn’t answer.

“You get one warning, Lucy. Only one.” Her voice is low, and dangerous, with a promise for serious repercussions in it.

“ _Fuck you, Ferguson! I’m going to make Vineg-“_ Gambarro’s threat is cut off as Joan springs into action.

Joan doesn’t bother waiting, flinging the radio at Mark, she aligns her sight at the furthest pane of glass, and fires one bullet, shattering the window and causing screams from below, and from inside the office. Panic erupts down in the yard, with women running for cover in case more bullets start firing.

“ _What the fuck? WHAT THE FUCK?!”_ Joan can hear Gambarro’s screaming through the radio and through the frame of the now empty window and sits up, shuffling forward with the rifle towards the lip of the roof.

The SESG team, who by now had been waiting patiently further down the corridor from Joan’s office, burst into the room and Joan waits until Gambarro is restrained before she rises to her feet, holding her rifle close. The women down in the yard take notice immediately, staring at the woman who they’ve never seen out of uniform before. And for a few of them, the clothes that she’s currently wearing make her look particularly attractive.

“ _It’s the Governor!”_

_“It’s fucking Ferguson!”_

_“Holy shit!”_

She ignores them, for now. “Lucy!” She shouts across to the inmate who looks up at her in shock. “I warned you!”

“FUCKING FERGUSO-“

Her rant is cut off, as she’s shoved forward by Charlie, who had checked on Vera at Joan’s behest when he’d followed the SESG team into the room. He hadn’t appreciated the threat that Gambarro had been flinging around, and Joan watches as he pushes her out of the room roughly.

Joan lifts one leg, and rests a foot on the lip of the roof, and then speaks down to the crowd in the yard.

“As for the rest of you,” She bellows, her voice echoing. “You will march yourselves back to your units or so help me, I’ll unload this gun into the middle of you all and I won’t care who I hit!” She glares at them, noting that Franky Doyle is staring up at her in shock and Bea Smith looks genuinely terrified, eyes flicking between Joan’s face and the gun. “I SAID MOVE IT!”

The women flinch, and immediately disperse, running into the building to put some distance between them and the gun-wielding governor. 

“Well, that went as well as expected.” Alex comments. Joan turns to him, an amused expression on her face.

“GOVERNOR!” Will Jackson screams from his place against the wall in warning as Skye Pierson reaches her arm back to hurl a misshapen brick up at her. It’s the first things she’s heard him say since this whole incident started.

Alex spins his own rifle around on his body, but it isn’t needed.

CLUNK!

Pierson falls to the ground in a heap, a mess of teal uniform and blonde hair, one of Joan’s paperweights from her desk on the grass next to her head. Joan looks up, where Vera is stood in the broken window, looking down with disinterest at how well her aim had proven to be.

“You!” Vera yells, looking at her with an angry look, dishevelled appearance and a pointed finger. Joan’s eyebrows raise in surprise. Authoritative Vera was attractive. In the extreme. “Meet me downstairs, now!”

She watches as the shorter woman spins on her heel without waiting for an answer, and walks out of the office, and then turns back to Mark.

“Looks like you’re in trouble with the wife, Joanie.” Mark quips, and she rolls her eyes, feeling the nagging pain building in her upper arm and shoulder now the adrenaline was wearing off.

“She isn’t my wife.”

“Yeah, but you wish she was!” He teases, helping her split the gun into two parts after removing the clip and flicking the safety on. He’s noticed that her arm is beginning to bug her. “Being so relieved that you’re okay that she can’t do anything but save you from a crackhead and then yell at you?”

“That’s wifey shit, Joan.” Alex pipes up, grinning at her after fluffing his curls.

“You two do remember that I’m holding a gun, yes?” They share a laugh, but stop their teasing all the same. Together, they get off the roof in the same way that they got up there, with Mark leading the way, and Alex bringing up the rear.

The crowd was still there, held back by a cordon, and when she turns around the back of the SUV to place her gun back in it’s case, Vera is there, leaning against the side of the car. She waits for Joan to click the rifle back into its slot, and shut the lid. She winces as her shoulder pulls, her upper arm a throbbing mess.

She turns to Vera to ask if she’s alright, but the shorter woman throws herself at her, not giving her a chance to speak.

She clutches at her, refusing to let go. “You’re okay. You're really okay.” Her voice is muffled, pressed into her chest. Joan huffs a little laugh, and hugs her back, squeezing her close and pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head.

“I’m okay.” She reassures her, trying to ignore the fact that the burning in her shoulder is becoming more insistent.

Vera’s perceptive gaze picks up on the small wince and the flinch when Joan moves her arm, and she looks her over, coming to a stop at the injury on her shoulder. It’s started to bleed again, and her shoulder and arm looks wet.

“What the fuck is that?”

“It’s noth-“

“It’s not nothing, woman!” Vera’s hands flutter around her arm, not wanting to touch it in case she hurts the taller woman more. She turns and hollers for the only name she knows of the team, “MARK!”

“Vera, really-“ Her words cut off as her head spins and she slides down the side of the car in a slump, leaving a smear of blood from her shoulder on the car, and Vera’s worried face is the last thing she sees before she loses consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, every comment and kudos is appreciated! <3


	5. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consequences. 
> 
> Vera loses her temper. 
> 
> Mark asks a promise of Vera.
> 
> There's drama, there's angst, there's heartwarming moments...this chapter felt good to write!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I said that this would be 5 chapters long, but I told a little lie, and it will actually 6! Because everytime I start to find a way to wrap this up, my brain finds a better way to do it will way more words and content. And seeing as we're still in lockdown with nothing else to do, why not add an extra chapter? And possibly an epilogue?
> 
> I would like to clarify, I am not a doctor, and medically speaking for this chapter, I'm running blind and guessing. 
> 
> Mentions of BLOOD and injury but not overly graphic. Oh and there's a ton of swearing in this one.

Vera is hollering for help as she watches Joan slump against the side of the SUV, leaving bloody streaks from the window down to the wheel arch, landing on the concrete with a thud.

Her heart had leapt into her throat when she’d gone limp and she’s shrieking for Mark, who’s come running at the first hint of trouble.

He skids to the two women, seeing that the Deputy is on her knees, and has Joan propped up with her head on her shoulder, and she’s shaking her, her hands fluttering from cupping her face to holding her hand. The fact that Joan’s entire right arm is soaked, and the side of the SUV looks like it’s been a crime scene, and the black haired sniper is slumped forward, with her eyes shut and as limp as a ragdoll. Blood streams down from her shoulder and drips from her fingertips.

_Goddamn it, Joan!_

“MEDIC!” He shouts at the top of his lungs, “I NEED A MEDIC HERE NOW!”

Vera looks up to him in panic, wide eyes filled with tears, and she’s patting Joan’s cheek, trying to wake her, repeating her name. Mark drops to his knees next to her.

“No point trying that, love. She’s lost too much blood.”

“You think I can’t see that!?” There’s steel in her voice, and he doesn’t meet her gaze. He knows what he’d promised the woman. And whilst Joan getting shot was a complete accident, he feels guilt churn in his gut.

_You make sure that she comes back here, to me, in one piece, understand?_

He watches as Vera stops patting Joan’s face and instead presses both hands to Joan’s shoulder, trying to stem the blood. Mark guesses that what was a graze has worsened into an seriously deep injury due to Joan’s insistence on getting to Vera and Wentworth and dealing with that situation first.

“Okay…okay…” Vera sniffs, hearing the low groan of pain escape from Joan’s mouth as she puts pressure on her upper arm. “WHERE’S THAT FUCKING DOCTOR?!”

A vision in green skids around the corner of the SUV, a huge bag in her hands. Darcy, the emergency doctor was well known to Joan, as she’d travelled wherever the team went, in case she was needed. But it had been a few years since she’d seen her last. The doctor is in dark green overalls, with EMERGENCY MEDIC emblazoned in white letters on the back, and on a small tag on the right side of her chest. Her short hair is a carefully coiffed hairstyle of curls, carefully held out of the way by a few hairclips. Vera absently notices that she has three studs in her left ear.

“Joanie, Joanie, Joanie…what have you gotten yourself into?” She yanks open the medical bag, showing carefully organised sections, and she delves into the mesh section filled with gauze. Using medical scissors, she cuts away at the already ripped fabric at Joan’s shoulder, and is packing gauze and bandages at the injury before Vera can get a good look at the wound.

“… _bastard…”_

“Yeah, you can call me all the names under the sun babe, so long as you stay awake.” Joan’s propensity for swearing when drifting in and out of consciousness was something that Darcy was used to, and the woman had called her far worse when she was pulling glass out of her thigh, nearly eight years ago.

A hiss of pain as Darcy applies more gauze makes Vera reach up to stroke Joan’s cheek but she stops short at the sight of bright red on her hands.

“Alright, I’ve done what I can here. She might need surgery if she’s got tendon damage.” She spares a glance at Vera in a way that only doctors can manage. “You keep your grip on our girl, alright?” She doesn’t need to see Vera nod, but she knows that she will. Darcy turns and unleashes a voice that reminds Vera of American drill sergeants. “I NEED A TRANSPORT AND I NEED IT NOW!”

The screech of the doctor is enough.

Within five minutes, Joan is being loaded onto a stretcher, and quickly placed in the back of the ambulance. Darcy hops in, and Vera follows, the look she gives to the one paramedic that tries to protest is enough to make all of them think twice about questioning the woman with a blood soaked blouse.

The ambulance peels out of the carpark, Mark and the rest of the team following close behind, leaving the SESG to finish up with Wentworth. With both Joan and Vera out of commission, it would be up to Linda to deal with things.

The ride to the hospital is a blur for Vera, watching as the doctor places a oxygen mask over Joan's face and checks on the injured shoulder. And when they arrive and Joan is immediately surrounded by medical staff. She’s wheeled through to a section of the emergency department where Vera can’t follow, and she slumps into a hard, plastic seat, breathing heavily.

_She will be fine, she will be fine, she will be fine, she will be fine. Please let her be fine. Please._ _Please._ _PLEASE._

She rests her head on her knees.

Her thoughts go round and round in the same thought pattern, until Mark and the team arrives, and she lifts her head at the sound of incoming footsteps, her gaze immediately focusing only on Mark.

She gets to her feet, and begins to walk forward, stalking towards the small group led by the man with average features, and when she gets close enough, she doesn’t slow down as she pulls her fist back and thwacks it into the side of his face. Mark, not expecting the swing, falls to one knee onto the tiled floor, lifting a hand to cover his cheek, as if he doesn’t believe that the petite Deputy has just floored him with one hit.

“You promised.” He looks up, to see Vera Bennett stood over him like an avenging Valkyrie, covered in Joan’s blood and her hair wild. He notices that she has a smear of it on her cheek, and the way she’s looking at him could turn him to stone if she had the ability.

Without a word, she turns on her heel, and marches off, the sound of her heels bouncing off the walls.

“Holy shit, I can see why Joan likes her.” Alex says, sharing a look with Josie.

Slowly, Mark gets to his feet, rubbing the side of his face, which feels warm. He moves his jaw, feeling the dull throb and winces.

The team share a look, and Charlie steps forward, placing a hand on Mark’s shoulder. 

“She didn’t mean it, she’s just stressed.” He reassures, but Mark just stares down the hallway that the deputy had stalked down, disappearing after turning a corner.

“No, no. I had that coming. I broke a promise.”

“Hell, I’m impressed!” Tess said, folding her arms. “The first person I’ve ever seen that manages to get you to the floor in one hit and she isn’t even on our squad!”

Ingrid comes up to stand next to Mark. “I believe you have some grovelling to do.” He looks at her. “Might I suggest that you go and grab something of Joan’s for her to keep close to her whilst she’s in surgery? It will help keep her grounded.” She places a hand on his back. “Or she might hit the other side of your face, make it a matching set.” She jokes.

“She’s right.” Charlie agrees. “We’ve all been here before, in this situation, more than once. Miss Bennett probably never has. And if she’s Joan’s girl, then she’s one of us. We look out of our own.”

Plan made, the group disperses into different directions, each with their own idea.

* * *

She manages to find a bathroom to wash her hands after the second hour of waiting. The nurses, despite their sympathetic glances, couldn’t tell her anything new, and she didn’t feel like braving the curious stares at her bloody shirt to go and find coffee.

After the third hour, she begins to feel slightly guilty for smacking the shit out of the Sergeant. Only slightly. She’s not moved from her seat, and when she contemplates standing and walking around for a while, her ears prick up at the sound of familiar voices.

“…honestly, you can’t tell me that she’ll stick around now.” She knows that voice. “I mean, why the fuck would you be a governor when you can be a bloody _sniper?!”_

_Fletch._

“You have no idea why she decided to be a governor, and quite frankly, she saved out arses today, man.” That’s Will.

The voices come closer, likely walking down the corridor.

“I mean, we could use the fact that she threatened to shoot the prisoners as a way to get rid of her, right?” Vera feels red-hot rage creep up her spine, for the second time in a day.

“Are you actually insane? You do remember that some of Franky’s girls tried to get a shank into your neck, right? You fucking owe her, man.” Will’s voice is even, deliberately so. He was probably trying to contain any potential for Fletch to lose his temper.

 _Joan, you protected me today._ Vera thinks to herself, getting to her feet, and straightening her back. _Time to return the favour._

“I don’t owe that bitch fucking anything!” Fletch spits. “I’m gonna-“

“You’re gonna what, Fletch?” The two men stop short as they turn the corner and the deputy is there, covered in dried blood. Will only opens his mouth and closes it again, but Vera’s cold gaze isn’t focused on him.

It’s on the man next to him.

“You’re gonna do what, to our Governor, Fletch? Go on. Don’t be shy.” She bites out her words, glaring at him. “Tell me, what’s your plan for the woman who just saved your ungrateful arse today.”

Fletch hesitates, not used to the coldness from the petite woman. “Vera, I…”

“Especially considering that you’ve been feeding info to the prisoners about shift changes, and officer’s habits.” She clenches her teeth. She’d been collecting information on him for a few weeks, wanting to think well of him, thinking that perhaps that he was just being clumsy, and forgetting to secure gates. However, the thick folder of evidence proved otherwise. “If Gambarro managed to do what she was threatening to do to me today, they wouldn’t ever find your body, I hope you know that. Because you are the reason that she managed to get a hold of me, you arsehole.”

Will watched the encounter between the two, noticing how Fletch seemed to be getting paler and paler by the second.

“Channing said-“

“Channing’s in a cell of his own, Fletch.” Vera cuts across him, not wanting him to talk anymore. She was tired. She was utterly tired of his bullshit. “Want to join him?”

“Fuck you, Vera. You don’t know shit.” Fletch turns on her, his surprised expression giving way to a hateful snarl on his face as he spat out his words. He advances on her, yanking Will’s hand away from him when the man tries to stop him, and he tries not to show his surprise when Vera doesn’t move from her spot, despite him getting too close for comfort. “I did what I needed to do to get Wentworth to be a better fucking place. Fuck Joan Ferguson, and fuck you, if you think that she’s so great. The Vera I knew wouldn’t have thought that someone like that was worth abandoning your friends for.”

“We were never friends, Fletch. I was just someone who didn’t know who I was, and you? You were a fucking drunk, still are. A drunk who likes to come to work stinking of old beer and be the fucking laughing stock of the inmates and the officers. You want to know what women do behind your back, Fletch? Want to know what Linda does? They laugh. Fucking pathetic.”

“You fucking CUNT-“ Will immediately grabs onto the fist that’s been lifted back, wrenching it back down to Fletch’s side, despite his struggling. Vera hasn’t so much as flinched.

“Now now, such language in front of a lady!”

All three heads turn in the direction of the new voice.

There stands Mark and his team, with clean clothes, two bags, and Joan’s work blazer carefully folded. The side of Mark’s face is already darkening into a substantial bruise, but he stands shoulder to shoulder with a large, bulky man, who’s got his arms crossed across his chest, highlighting his bulk.

The look he’s giving Fletch is anything but friendly.

“Now, boys. If you’d like to go with Charlie and Alex here, they’re going to escort you to some police buddies of mine, they’ll take your statements about today.” It’s an order, and both men know it. The larger of the men take a step forward, and Fletch flinches, uncomfortable being the smaller man, unable to throw his bulk around.

Vera watches as Will’s expression hardens as he stares at his one-time friend. He’s watched him turn on Vera, turn on Linda and find a reason to argue with every single colleague that disagrees with him. He’s also watched as Joan Ferguson turned up to a full blown prison riot, all guns blazing, _literally,_ for the petite woman in front of him.

He’s under no illusions. He knows that if Vera had been on a day off today, the Governor would have handed it over to the SESG and let them deal with it, budgetary cost be damned.

Has he been _that blind,_ that he’s missed every sign that points towards the Governor and Deputy being involved? The side glances, the smiles, the lunches taken in the Governor’s office?

He knows, because its what he and Meg used to do. They would share their lunch break, take the hour to unwind before getting back into the rush of prison shifts. And sometimes, only sometimes, the lunchbreaks were a chance to get rid of some tension, to make the rest of the shift easier.

He really was blind. And Meg would be ashamed of him, if she were here.

Meg had never been perfect, and neither had he, but she would be ashamed of how he’d acted for the past year.

With that thought stuck in his mind, he shoves Fletch forward, away from Vera and towards the bulky man at the end of the corridor.

“Move. Now.”

The other man is too shocked by the sudden change in Will to really protest and put up a fight. And when the large man grabs Fletch by the shoulder to move him forcefully down the corridor, Will follows close behind.

Vera lets out a slow breath, and then moves a few steps to sit back in one of the plastic waiting-room chairs. She rubs a hand over her face and sighs deeply.

The feeling of something heavy being laid over her shoulders makes her look up. Mark is there, gently placing a familiar smelling blazer over her shoulders and then sits next to her. She clutches at both lapels of the jacket, tugging it closed around her body and tucking her nose into the collar that’s been pulled up to her ears. She breathes in, smelling the expensive perfume that Joan favours, and something that’s been coiled up in nerves and worry since this morning, relaxes at long last.

“I’m sorry about your face.” She mutters, not meeting his eyes as he rummages in the bag and produces a can of Coke.

“Nope, I had that coming. I broke my promise to you. But it was an accident, I want you to know that.”

“I know.”

“And the last time I broke a promise to Joan, she did the exact same thing. And she threatened to stab me in the foot this morning if she got shot again, so I need you to hide anything sharp when she wakes up.”

Vera stifles a laugh.

“I have no right to, but I want to ask a promise of you, Miss Bennett.” He looks at her gently, and she meets his gaze.

“I nearly knocked your teeth out, I think you’ve earnt the right to call me Vera.” She half-smiles at him. He returns it, settling in the chair.

“Then Vera it will be.” He sighs once. “Promise me that you won’t hurt my sister, Vera.”

She looks at him sharply, eyes searching. He stares back, hiding nothing. She blinks.

“I promise.”

He reaches out his hand, and Vera places her own into it, and they sit there, worried and holding each other’s hands in comfort as they wait for any news that might appear. 

Eventually, the rest of the team appear, one by one. Vera doesn’t know their names, but each waiting room seat is filled, and every single one of them is filled with a person there for Joan. The last person to arrive, is the blonde haired tech support, Jason. He waves shyly at Vera, who offers a small smile back and he sits in the chair next to the engineer, who’s tinkering with a Rubiks Cube that she’s found from somewhere. He perches in the chair next to her, and pulls out a Kindle from one of his pockets inside his leather jacket, and one foot taps with a nervous energy on the metal chair leg. Vera gazes around the room, seeing the large man who’d grabbed Fletch filling in a crossword, and the curly haired, tan young man plays Candy Crush, swearing lowly when he loses a level. Two women are leaning up against each, they’d introduced themselves, Tess, and Ingrid. Tess is tapping away on her phone, concentrating and Ingrid is furiously highlighting different passages in a research paper in her lap.

Vera smiles softly. None of them were related to the woman in surgery by blood, but they were bound by their bond.

They wait, as a family unit, for any news.

* * *

They’ve been there for nearly seven hours, when a nurse pops her head around the door with a huge RESTRICTED sign on the glass, startling many of the occupants of the waiting room awake.

She searches for one specific person before she speaks, meeting Vera’s hopeful gaze.

“She’s awake.”


	6. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vera gets to see Joan, who hates morphine and is blunter than normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is fluffy, heartwarming, comforting! It's a recovery chapter after the rollercoaster that was Chapter 5! 
> 
> I've decided to add an epilogue, and one more chapter, because again, so many ideas and I'm enjoying the process of writing this too much to cut it short too soon.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!

Vera doesn’t know what to expect when she follows the nurse through the doors. Her mind flicked through all the terrible hospital dramas she’d watched, and the patients covered in wires, and beeping machines and _so much blood._ She doesn’t know what she’ll do if Joan is a mangled mess of wires and blood. At the same time, she doesn’t know what to do if she finds her awake. Will Joan blame her for her injury? Because she had to come and help her? She doesn’t think that the woman will, but the tiny, insecure voice in the back of her head that sounds like a copy of her mother tries to tell her that she will.

“We’ve cleaned her up, but we’ve had to brace her right arm and her shoulder, to stop her moving it.” The nurse explained, after closing the door once she’d walked through it. Mark and the rest of the team had silently agreed to let her go alone first. The nurse hadn’t really let them through, knowing that the black haired woman had specifically been asking for the deputy that had been sat for hours as soon as she woke up from her surgery.

“I don’t know how much she’ll like that.” Vera murmurs, following the nurse, passing two empty beds and then arriving at a partially shut door of a private room. 

“She’ll probably be groggy, most people are after surgery, so don’t be surprised if she falls asleep halfway through a conversation. Give me a shout if you need anything, alright?” The nurse offers her a reassuring smile, and then bounces off down the corridor in a blur of blue scrubs.

Hesitantly, Vera peers around the door, not sure what she’ll find.

“Vera.”

She blinks in surprise at the happy tone to Joan’s voice. Pushing further into the room, she slips around the door, and looks towards the pale figure in the bed. Who is looking at her with a dopey grin, tired eyes and fairly ruffled hair.

Just as the nurse has said, her right shoulder and arm is in a black brace, immobilising her movement, but she lifts her left hand up to gesture for Vera to come closer. Vera, now the proof in front of her shows her that Joan is alright, is able to rush forward, with relieved teary eyes. She’s careful not to jostle the woman, but Joan’s arm is tight around her, and holding her close just as much as Vera is grasping at her waist.

She tucks her head into the crook of Joan’s neck, and feels the reassuring weight of Joan’s cheek on the crown of her head.

“I’m just fine.”

“You can’t use your right arm, I wouldn’t call that ‘just fine.’” Vera petulantly answers, and feels the chuckle.

“Mh, but I’m here, and alive. And so are you.” Her voice is groggy, but there’s relief in it, Vera can hear it, and she can’t help the shy smile that creeps across her face.

_Joan cared enough that she got shot trying to get back to me._

It makes her stomach twist in the best of ways, thinking that the woman in the hospital bed could care for her that much. Her mother had always told her that nobody could love her as much as she did. Here was Joan, proving the late Rita Bennett wrong, again.

Vera lifts her head, to look at her. There’s a soft smile on her face, and Vera can feel the matching one on her own lips.

“Are _you_ alright?” Joan asks, as her eyes flick around the features of Vera’s face.

Vera sits up, smiling at the concern that she shows even when on pain medication and injured.

“Now that I know you’re okay, I’m just fine.” She tells her, and in a burst of bravery, she lifts her hand to cup Joan’s cheek, the older woman leaning into her palm. Vera lets the stress of the entire day drain away, relaxing for the first time since her arrival in work that morning.

Joan’s eyes flick downward and she frowns. “Have you not got anything to change into?” She asks, knowing that Vera probably hated to be stuck wearing the bloodstained and ruined blouse.

Vera shrugs, holding onto her hand, not wanting to let go. “It isn’t important.” 

Joan shakes her head. “Mh, no.” She blinks twice. “Fuckin’ brain foggy. I hate it.” The words are a little more sluggish than they usually would be, the pain medication affecting her speech.

“You’ve had this type of surgery before?” Vera’s voice is quiet, not liking the idea of the woman being in any danger.

“Been shot twice, well three times now and stabbed once.” She shrugs her good shoulder. “All of them hurt, and the morphine makes me sound and feel stoned. I don’t like it. Much prefer vodka.”

“Well, I promise you, we’ll have a debrief with all the vodka we want once you finish the meds.” It’s a very easy promise for Vera to make, one she intends to keep, especially if it makes Joan smile at her the way she is now.

“Won’t even need the vodka if you’re there.” She says, smiling a dopey smile at the curly-haired woman, who blushes lightly in return. “Darcy managed to get some clothes for me from somewhere, but I’m not going to be able to move my arm enough to get into them. Over there.” She gestures with her chin to the small bag in the corner. “She said something about a sweater, and leggings. The leggings might be too long but the sweater should be better than that blouse.”

“I can’t take your clothes, Joan.” Vera tries to protest, but Joan is having none of it.

“Yes, you can. You have to listen to me, I’m an invalid.”

“You’re high on pain relief, how do you know the word invalid…”

“I’m clever. Now go and get some clean clothes. The bathroom is through the door there.” She points with her good hand and Vera squeezes her fingers gently once, and then gets up, and rifles through the bag, pulling out the soft cream knitted sweater, with an oversized, chunky collar that looks perfect to snuggle into.

She ducks into the bathroom, sighing in relief when she tie, and blouse come off, the bloodstains crackling and popping as she moved it away from her body. She bundled it up inside out, and placed it on the closed toilet lid. Then, she splashes some water on her face, and pulls the sweater over her head. It’s soft, and feels heavenly on her skin after a day of stiff cotton. The sleeves are a little too long, covering her hands up to her fingers, but Vera finds that she doesn’t mind. It comes down to rest over her hips, and perhaps looks odd when paired with her work skirt and heels, but she doesn’t care.

There are worse things that looking slightly odd after the day she’s had today.

She slips back into the room, back to Joan’s side and she watches as the woman yawns.

“I should go, let you sleep a little. Or give the others a chance to see you.” She’s unsure if Joan would want her to stay longer, that little insecure voice in the back of her head saying that she wasn’t wanted there.

“Fuck everyone else.” Joan’s eyes stay closed, but she holds out her good arm in an invitation. Vera notices that she’s shifted in the bed, and is now closer to the right side, with enough of the pillows to support her shoulder. The bed is large enough for two people. “They can wait. This isn’t their first time in a hospital waiting room.”

“Are you sure?”

“Vera, you’ve had the day from hell. Take a nap with me before more people turn up and I have to be nice to them.”

She grins at Joan’s bluntness, unchanged by the fact that she was laying in a hospital bed. She slips off her shoes, shoves them out of the way and carefully gets onto the hospital bed next to the other woman, who immediately wraps her arm around her as Vera tucks herself into Joan’s body, turning her body so that she’s laying on her right side. She feels the weight of Joan’s cheek resting on the top of her head.

“You sure about this?” Vera whispers, not wanting to have Joan tell her that everything is all in her head.

“We’ve been dancing around each other for long enough, don’t you think?”

The only response is Vera pressing herself closer, and carefully wrapping her arm around Joan’s middle, with a content sigh.

She can feel the grin on the top of her head.

Within five minutes, they’re both asleep, carefully curled around each other.

* * *

No matter the situation, instinctual reactions are hard to stop.

The small creak of the door opening has Joan moving very quickly.

Using her good hand to shove Vera down on the bed, she leans over and snatches the knife from the bedside table, unclipping it with her teeth and flinging it toward the man in the doorway. Her shoulder screams at the jarring of movement, but Joan determinedly ignores it until she knows who is in the doorway.

Darcy was assigned as her doctor, as she always was after an injury on the job, and knew better than to try and sneak into her room. She always knocked first, to warn Joan that it was her. The nurses had been told to do the same, and they knew that they needed to follow that instruction.

So, Joan doesn’t know who’s trying to open the door. But she has a fairly good idea.

It’s a familiar man, with non-descript features and average height.

Who, as it happens, squeals like a pig and flinches away from the flying weapon with a high pitched cry of ‘JOAN!’

Mark peeks his head back into the room, looking between the knife currently embedded into the wood of the doorframe, at the same level of his face and the woman in the bed, who is allowing Vera to sit up, now that she can see who it is. Vera shifts back, leaning back against the pillows, next to Joan and looking rumpled from sleep.

“You said you’d stab me in my foot, Joanie-girl. THAT IS NOT MY FOOT!” There’s a slight hysterical edge to his voice.

“Details, details.” Vera stifles her laughter at Joan’s eyeroll as Mark carefully comes closer and shuts the door, yanking the knife out of the wood before he closes it with a click. Then, with a critical eye, she watches as the woman flinches when she fidgets, and Vera carefully helps her manoeuvre in the bed to be comfortable again, after the jarring of movement with the knife.

“Why the fuck do you have the knife I gave you, by your bed?!” He’s noticed that the case is the exact same as the one he’d given her earlier, and he’s gesturing wildly, but not missing the fact that Joan’s good hand curved around Vera’s leg, and one of Vera’s hand was clasped around the woman’s wrist.

“Darcy put it there.”

“Oh, Darcy put it ther- Why is the doctor giving you your weapons!?” Mark rubs his forehead.

“I asked her to.” 

“You’re going to make me go grey, woman, I swear to God!”

“We all know that you dye your hair, Mark. It isn’t a secret.” The sardonic tone stops the banter being taken seriously, but the curved, raised eyebrow of Joan’s makes Vera wonder how true that statement is.

Satisfied that the woman hasn’t got anything else to throw at him, he makes his way to the chair next to her bed, seeing that Vera is perfectly comfortable where she is and isn’t likely to move anytime soon.

“How you feelin’?” The question gets two ‘Are you serious?’ facial expressions, and he holds up his hands in defeat. “Stupid question, I know. Did they give you the good stuff?”

“Morphine.”

“Your favourite, Joanie.”

“Fuck off.”

Vera is watching the exchange with avid interest. She knows that Joan doesn’t have any siblings, but the way these two interact, an outsider would have sworn that they were related.

“I owe you a hole in your foot, Mark.” She’s glaring at him. “And you know it.”

He grimaces, knowing that she was like a dog with a bone when she got her mind stuck on something. The little movement of Vera’s thumb rubbing the inside of Joan’s wrist isn’t missed by him.

_Interesting._

“I’m just checking if you’re up for the rest of the rabble to come and check on you. If Alex starts tapping on his chair leg one more time then I’m going to break the boy’s legs.”

Joan shares a look with Vera and then smirks, her eyes flicking to the door.

Mark gets to his feet, and silently, walks over to the door that is currently shut. Then holding a finger up to his lips, he grins, and yanks open the door, stepping back and out of the way as he did so.

The team collapse in a heap halfway through the door, none of them expecting the door that they’d all been leaning on to suddenly be pulled out of the way. Groaning and muttered complaints make the two women on the bed smile, and share a fond look at each other.

Then, on masse, the group rush to their feet and immediately crowd around the bed.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry we didn’t spot the nutcase!”

“Joan!”

She lets them talk over one another for a few moments, and then says one word.

“Enough.”

Vera watches in awe as they all immediately fall silent, as children would listen to their mother with no hesitation.

“I am fine, it hurts a little, I don’t blame any of you, and yes, I want to sleep. Any more questions?”

Blinking eyes are all she gets.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Joan.” Josie has her hair up in a bun at the top of her head, and she carefully leans over to hug Joan, and wraps her arms around Vera too, who returns the hug.

Alex and Ingrid do the same, and Tessa offers a gentle kiss to the cheek to the black haired woman and then steps away with a few words of relief that she’s alright.

They stay, crowded in the room for about fifteen more minutes when Darcy, the doctor that Vera recognised as the one that had helped Joan in the carpark of Wentworth, walked in with a pillow and a blanket in her arms.

“Right, you lot! It is nearly 11pm, and I’ve used all my goodwill with the nurses here. You can all come back tomorrow and see Joan again.”

They all complain again, but do as they’re told, Mark included. He places a gentle kiss to Joan’s forehead, and ruffles her hair, ignoring the glare that she sends his way. They’re distracted when Tess half-runs back into the room, a backpack in her hands. She rushes over to Vera, avoiding crashing into Darcy and places it on Vera’s lap. She smiles at the woman’s confused look.

“I guessed your size, but there’s pyjamas, clean underwear, some clothes and a pair of flats.” She hugged the woman quickly, and then bounces out with a wave.

Vera, although confused, starts to rise from her spot on the bed, but is stopped by Joan’s hand on hers. Darcy has placed the blanket and spare pillow on the chair, checks on Joan’s vitals on the machines, and then states that the nurse might check on her later in the night but other than that, would see her in the morning. Then, she leaves with a quick goodbye, clicking the door shut behind her.

“I’d better go…”

“Do you think that Darcy brough the blanket as a decoration?” Joan teases, but Vera can tell that she’s tired again. “If you are willing to stay, I would be happy for you to stay.”

“Really?”

“You make a very comfortable pillow.”

Vera stares at her for a moment, smiling softly.

Then, finding some of her courage, she leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to Joan’s lips, feeling the smile that stretches across the woman’s mouth once the surprise passes.

Reluctantly, Vera pulls back, mouth open to start to apologise, when Joan’s good hand comes up and gently pulls her back, using the oversized collar to bring Vera’s face back to hers.

Another kiss, with more heat in it this time, and now the two of them are grinning from ear to ear.

“Remind me to do that again when I’m not so doped up on morphine, would you?” Joan says, squeezing Vera’s hand.

Presses another quick kiss to Joan’s lips, Vera smiles. “I promise to remind you.”

She hops off the bed to dig in the bag and find the pyjamas, finding a simple black strap top and black trousers that will no doubt be a little long in the legs. She speeds through the process, but carefully folding the sweater and slipping into the pyjamas, and brushing her teeth with the spare toothbrush that Tess had added into the bag. She is back by Joan’s side in under five minutes, turning down the lights at the woman’s request and arranging the blanket over her legs.

The two find themselves in the same position that they’d napped in earlier. It’s comfortable, and gives the two women the closeness that they currently want with one another.

When the nurse quietly checks on Joan in the night, she smiles at the pair curled around each other, despite Joan’s brace. The black haired woman is holding the other to her almost protectively, whilst the curly haired woman is clutching at the nurse’s patient as if to shield her from anything or anyone.

On silent feet, she checks the monitor and Joan’s pulse rate, and then carefully tucks the blanket around Vera’s back. She then leaves, with a soft smile on her face.

Neither woman wake up until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all support is appreciated <3 thank you for leaving kudos, comments and bookmarks!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, as always <3 I always appreciate you guys, and every little email I get saying that someone put a kudos or gave a comment makes me smile :D


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